


Butting Heads

by SapphireInTheSky



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7183694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireInTheSky/pseuds/SapphireInTheSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever question the flawless attire of assassins? How cool it makes them look...How frightening they can appear? Well at one point or another, that means assassins went on a shopping trip. Who said SHIELD had to buy them everything?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butting Heads

**Author's Note:**

> A directionless one shot. I don't know if anyone will like this since it is random as hell but i felt like posting it rather than deleting it. I hope it finds some purpose out there amongst the watchful eyes ;)

“Try this one on”

“Seriously , Nat…A purple polo shirt?”

“What’s wrong with purple? I thought that was your…thing” Natasha questioned, eyes narrowing at her partner.

“Purple’s not the problem. I’m an assassin, not a golfer, remember?” Clint replied with a roll of his eyes.

Natasha huffed, placing the purple polo back on the rack. “Assassin’s can golf…” she retorted quietly.

“Not where we’re going” Clint argued, inspecting yet another black plain T.

“We’re not there yet…who knows…” Natasha smirked. 

Clint paused, lowering the black T back on the rack and giving the red-headed assassin a flat stare, “You wanna golf during the mission?”

Natasha frowned, “I don’t golf…”

“Then stop advertising it like you do” Clint concluded, eyes raking the coat hangers for appropriate disguises.

He picked up another black shirt.

Natasha let out a sigh, putting a hand on her hip as she walked around the edge of the aisle to meet him. “You can’t wear all black”

Clint shrugged, “What‘s wrong with black? It’s casual. Blends in almost anywhere”

“Especially at funerals -which you look like you’re about to attend…on more than one occasion” Natasha noted.

“Well technically, I’ll be there at the time of death…” Clint jested darkly.

Natasha moaned, pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance, “You can’t walk in there like that. They’ll notice you for who you really are” she warned.

“A charming, delightful young man with a preference for dark materials” Clint summed up.

Natasha leaned over to collect her own disguises hanging from the rail. She purposely stepped on Clint’s foot as she did, relishing his flinch of pain.

“Oops”

“You did that on purpose” he grumbled, trying to stomp on her foot now. 

Natasha easily evaded his large booted feet, sliding around his frame and gliding away to a safe distance. She noted he still carried six similar black suits.

Any other day, she would just leave him to wallow in his own idiocy. If he wanted to buy black clothing and walk across the desert, then that was his own problem. 

But they shared this mission…they depended on cover, on stealth. 

Which ultimately meant, she was responsible for his attire…since he obviously didn’t know how to dress. Damn it.

“Put them back” she ordered.

“No”

“Why not?” Natasha sighed.

“I’ve become attached” Clint feigned, hugging them to his chest.

A store clerk brushed by, her eyes judging the way a grown man cuddled the fresh fabrics. Natasha felt her face heating up.

“Just shut up and put them down” she snapped, laying her own clothes down to force Clint into obedience.

He stretched his arms out, holding the clothes on the far side as he pressed Natasha back, “Your manners are atrocious”

“Your face is atrocious”

“Ouch” Clint winced, a smile hidden in his eyes.

Natasha snatched for the clothes, almost stumbling as he stuck his leg out in front of her.

The idling clerk peered over at the duo, suspicion written all over her face.

Natasha ducked her head below the line of clothing racks.

“Stop. Making. A. Scene” she hissed, piercing greens boring holes into his equal sapphires.

“You’re the one who won’t let me wear black” Clint argued.

“Because you’ll look like a hitman!”

The nearby clerk sniffed in distaste. This time, both assassins hushed their voices. 

Clint turned his full attention on his partner, bottom lip jutting out defiantly, “Business men wear black suits all the time. They’ll think I‘m there for business” he reasoned.

“But do you get business men in the middle of a Moroccan desert?” Natasha pressed, hoping he would agree.

Clint’s expression drew into an unhappy frown, “Possibly…” 

Everyone knew business men travelled the globe. Therefore, there had to be Moroccan business men in existence…they were just rare, like Nat‘s smile. 

Perhaps the men were stood just beyond the next sand dune….hiding…

Natasha watched in disdain as her partner turned the matter over in his mind, poisoning her logic with his flawed perception of the world.

“Give it up, Barton. Even if I allowed you to buy all black, you’d sweat to death and take it all off within an hour” Natasha insisted, eyes casting back to the purple polos.

“Take it all off?” Clint grinned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, “Sounds like a good idea”

Natasha shoved the incorrigible four-year-old in the chest, sending him an exasperated glare as she drifted by, “Grow up.”

Clint watched her go, a smug expression on his face, “You grow up!” he called, knowing it would drive her nuts.

Turning her back on the incorrigible toddler, the widow headed for the checkout. If he wanted to melt on the upcoming mission, so be it.

Tony would no doubt make a weak joke about burnt hawks and fried chicken. She would take pictures and Clint would…roast.

Sometimes, her partner’s stubbornness could have an entertaining outcome.


End file.
